King's Cross
by Aislinn Carter
Summary: Every year she goes to King's Cross, hoping to see him, to make amends. Every year she is disappointed...except this year.


This is my first attempt at Harry Potter fanfic. I'm sure more will follow. Reviews are very much appreciated.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anyone else in this story. J.K. Rowling owns them. God, I really wish I did, though.

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It was her little secret, her one concession to the warring in her mind. The one concession to her loyalty to _him_.

Every year, on September first, she went to King's Cross.

She stood in front of the station. She knew he wouldn't be there – not yet, at least – but she went anyway.

And then her husband died, and the guilt ate at her, and she didn't go.

And more years passed.

And finally, one day, she went.

Just because she was curious.

She stood in front of the station, her wrinkled, trembling hands clutching a little book. She always brought the book with her, just in case she saw him. But she hadn't been here in years. She hadn't seen him in years…more than twenty-five, she would imagine. She couldn't remember anymore.

She had just given up hope when a car pulled haphazardly into a space nearby.

A tall, laughing boy jumped out of the driver's seat. She gasped at his appearance. He looked so nearly like his father that it was like looking into her memories. Another boy who was nearly as identical tumbled out of the passenger side, also laughing. They high-fived each other over the roof of the car, and looked expectantly at the back doors.

A red haired woman stepped out, and though she couldn't hear what was being said, the general gist was that she wasn't amused. A teenage girl, looking so like her mother, followed, giggling and tugging her mother's arm, likely begging to be allowed to do the same thing.

She moved closer, trying to hear their words. "…Just like your uncles!" The woman was saying. "That's the last time you'll be driving this car. Your father paid a lot of money for it and I won't let you turn it into your plaything!"

The other back door opened, and _he_ stepped out.

He was a man now, into his early forties. His hair was still as rumpled as ever. She remembered despairing of it ever laying flat, and it never had, evidently. He still wore glasses, and he still had a spark of youth in his eyes as he smirked at his sons behind his wife's back.

"Honestly, Mum, it wasn't that bad! Look, Dad thinks it's a laugh, don't you Dad?"

The wife turned her furious gaze on her husband, who just raised his hands in supplication. "I don't know anything. Let's just get your trunks out and get to the train."

Her heart beat in a mad rhythm. It had been so long, and she had been so cruel. Oh, she had her own reasons, but she couldn't justify them any longer. After losing her husband, and then her son just last year, she needed family to connect to. Her grandchildren were all too young, and besides, their mother and her and never really gotten along. She needed this boy, this man. She had raised him, for better or worse, and she needed him.

She walked closer, her hands shaking terribly, as the woman began to brush off her daughter's clothes and fiddle with her hair. The girl, a striking young woman with fiery hair and a beautiful face, frowned and waved her mother's hands away. "Knock it off, Mum. I look fine."

"You spend too much time on a broom and not enough in front of a mirror, and I can't believe I'm saying that. Your hair is a mess!"

"You boys remember, if I get one more owl from McGonagall about you, you'll be at Gran and Gramps' over winter break, getting rid of garden gnomes." The man was saying as he and his sons unloaded the trunk of the car. Three heavy trunks were placed to the ground, trunks that she remembered quite well.

She finally reached them, and she stared at the man fearfully. "Excuse me, Harry?"

The man glanced at her. "Yes? Can I help you?"

Her heart sank. So, he didn't remember her. She shouldn't be surprised. She supposed he wouldn't really _want_ to remember her, anyway.

"You don't remember me?" she asked softly.

The wife and the daughter stopped their bickering and turned to her with interest. She was faced by all five of them, a formidable lot. But there was no malice in their eyes, not yet. She wondered if there would be when they found out who she was.

"I'm sorry, have we met?" He peered closer. "You do look familiar."

She smiled tremulously. "I hope I do. You grew up in my home."

His eyes widened. "Aunt Petunia?" he gasped in shock.

She nodded. She saw the wife get her hackles up right away, her eyes hardening and her face flushing. She recognized the woman, but she wasn't sure from where. She looked a lot like the family who had come to pick Harry up one summer when he was young. The children just looked confused.

"What are you doing here?" he asked softly.

"I…I came to see you." She said, and his eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"Me? Whatever for? And how did you know I'd be here?"

"September first, King's Cross. Every year." She said. "For seven years I came with my parent's to drop off my sister…I would wait sullenly in the car. Then we came to drop you off…the date is burned in my mind. I came here every year after we parted company, Harry. I never saw you. I stopped coming seven years ago."

"That's about the time we started coming." Harry said, his expression still one of disbelief. "Why did you come looking for me?"

"Many reasons. But mostly, to give you this." She held up the book in her hand, and handed it to him. He took it cautiously.

His wife watched as he flipped through the pages. "What is it?'

"It's a photo album."

His daughter looked over his shoulder. "Why aren't the pictures moving?"

"Muggle pictures." He murmured as he continued through the pages. He finally looked up at her, his eyes glistening. "This is you and my mother as children, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"I didn't know you had any pictures of her."

"I did. They were always in the attic. I couldn't...I couldn't bear to look at them." She said softly. "It hurt too much to think about her, to miss her. It's why I built such a hard shell around me where she was concerned. I lost her so young, you see. We grew up together, and then we didn't. She left me to go to that school, and we were never the same after that."

Harry gave her an odd look. "I know. You felt abandoned."

"Yes," she said slowly. "But how do you know that?"

"I'll tell you about it sometimes." He smiled. "Thank you for this, Aunt Petunia. It means more to me than you could ever know." He gestured to the rest of them. "This is my wife, Ginny. These are our children. James, Albus…and Lily."

Petunia let her eyes roam over the three teenagers. The oldest boy was Harry's image, but with his mother's brown eyes and hair more to the brown side than black. The other boy was even more of Harry's image, identical from the black hair to the green eyes…Lily's eyes. And the girl…while she had her mother's eyes and many of her mother's features, there was a look about her that echoed her long dead grandmother. There was a spark in her eye that reminded Petunia so much of Lily.

"It's wonderful to meet you all." She said weakly. "I'm Harry's aunt, Petunia. Your grandmother was my sister, and your father lived in my home until he was seventeen."

"We know who you are." The oldest boy said stonily.

"I'd imagine you do."

"Now, now, James." Harry said. "It's in the past." There was a light to Harry's eyes that she had never seen when looking at her before. "I'm sorry you spent so long trying to reach me. I should have written."

"There was no reason for you to want to." She said. "We were terrible to you. I can't…justify my actions. All I can do is apologize for them. You were my sister's son. I was close to her, and I lost her. Do you understand?"

He nodded slowly. Yes, I think I can." Suddenly, he seemed to realize that she was alone and he glanced around. "Uncle Vernon? Dudley?"

Petunia's eyes welled with tears. "Vernon died seven years ago. It's why I stopped coming. Dudley died last year. Heart disease, both of them. It's my own fault, I suppose, for indulging them so for so many years. I don't make the same mistake with my grandchildren. I have two of them. I never see them." She whispered.

Harry seemed to understand now that she was lonely. He nodded shortly, and glanced at his wife, who shrugged. "Aunt Petunia, we have to get this lot off to their train. Would you like to come with us? Maybe we can stop for a bite after, and just…talk."

Petunia's heart felt as though it would burst. He smiled brightly. "That would be lovely."

Harry offered her his arm, and she grabbed it, walking into King's Cross with the Potter family.

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Like it? It's okay, maybe? Let me know what you think!


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